Born in Darkness
by avearia
Summary: After stumbling upon the site of a car crash, caused by slick roads and ice, Jack's faith in his Guardianship is shaken. Bunnymund decides they need to talk. - Angst, Child injury, Hopeful ending.


_I realize now, belatedly, that posting this just after "Bus Crash," a much happier drabble on a similar topic, is a bit ironic. Ah, well. Warnings: Child injury, Angst, mention of genocide, depression, and death.  
_

**Born in Darkness**

"I was born in darkness," Jack tells him one day.

The comment makes Bunnymund stop. He turns to face Jack, wondering what the winter spirit means.

Jack doesn't look back at him. He's crouched on the edge of the roof a mere 10 feet away, looking over the wreckage with sad eyes.

The street lamps light the chaos below. Three cars and a semi are heaped at the center of the road after a collision. All four drivers stand outside their vehicles, white breath clouding the sharp night air.

Jack's words seem to make the air even colder. He speaks with a dead amusement. "It's the first thing I remember—when I became Frost. I was at the bottom of that lake, drowning in a cold darkness."

A driver, below, starts to argue with a police officer. The red and blue lights cut through the dark shadows, making his face looks stark and angry. It wasn't his fault the roads were icy, he insists. It wasn't _his _fault he lost control.

The words seem to mix all too well with the conversation Bunnymund is having with Jack.

"For three hundred years, I thought it was a mistake," Jack says, eyes locked on the face of the nearest woman. She is crying. Jack's blue eyes look away finally, down to Bunnymund. "—My Birth, that is. Someone made a terrible mistake, lifting me into the light. I knew I was never meant to be here. Because—somehow—I always seem to find my way back to the darkness again."

Bunnymund leaves the side of the road, hopping over to him. "Jack_—_" he begins.

Jack just looks down at his staff, face unreadable. Gently, he moves the stick to tap against the gutter at his feet. With the flick of his wrist, he slicks the hook across the metal bar. Frost follows in the staff's wake, gleefully rushing along the length of the house, then beyond. Soon the rooftop is encased in ice.

"Isn't Winter beautiful?" he asks Bunnymund. Jack's eyes are glazed over, glinting with something sad as he inspects his handiwork. "The leaves fall, the snow moves in. The nights get longer, colder, darker; and then, when Autumn breathes its last breath, everything—"

Jack stops, his eyes cast down to the crash site. Bunnymund turns to look.

The gurney's wheels clatter on the cold pavement, too loud in the quiet air. Both Guardians watch as a little girl is wheeled into the nearby ambulance. Her face is pale as the snow.

Bunnymund turns away, looking up at Jack. The young Guardian's mouth is set in a grim line, eyes cold and knotted with guilt.

"—Everything _dies._" Jack finishes.

The shingles creak as Jack straightens, eyes still glued to the scene below, and Bunnymund doesn't know what to say.

"I don't know why The Moon made me a Guardian," Jack admits at last. The staff in his hands glows blue, and he glares at his own power, accusatory. Then he looks away and sighs.

"I don't belong here."

Bunny sits right up, fur bristled. "Now, that's not true and you know it," he says.

"Do I?" Jack asks, rounding on Bunnymund. He shakes his staff at the car wreck below, grief clear in his eyes. "How can you say that after seeing this? When I'm constantly surrounded by misery and death—You four, you're, you're hope and dreams and wonder, and I'm just a cold darkness. How can you say I belong with the four of you?"

The words strike a chord inside Bunnymund; he's heard that logic before.

"My entire race is dead." Bunnymund says.

Jack stops. "…What?" he asks, clearly confused by the abrupt change in subject matter, and its morbid overtones. "Your race…?"

"Yes," Bunnymund feels the lump in his throat, but forces himself to go on. "My family. My friends. Every Pooka that ever lived—gone." He watches Jack struggle with this new information, eyes sweeping back and forth as he tries to wrap his head around the sheer enormity of despair that had affected Bunnymund's past. Bunny continues; "It's the same for Tooth. There used to be thousands of her kind, the Sisters of Flight, but now she's the only one left."

Jack stands very still, eyes searching Bunnymund's face. Below, the ambulance doors slam, and the siren whirls, the only thing filling their silence.

"North," Bunnymund continues carefully, "used to be a Bandit. He's seen plenty of misery and death in his lifetime. And Sandy—" he hesitates. "—Sandy has his own problems. I think there's a _reason _he stopped talking all those years ago."

Jack finally breaks eye contact, turning to look down at the ambulance again. The emergency vehicle U-Turns around the four car pileup and speeds its way West, whisking the little girl away. The traffic parts to let them pass.

The Winter child lingers there, on the cusp of the rooftop, watching the ambulance disappear. His staff hangs uselessly at his side, and he grips it with hands that shake.

"And?" Jack asks at last.

Bunnymund is quiet for a moment longer, watching Jack stare out towards the horizon.

"And we blamed ourselves," Bunny says. "It was easy. Natural, even. The world around us was so terrible and bleak, and with no one else to blame—we must've caused it, right? The world would be better off without us."

Bunny sees the conflicted gleam in Jack's eyes, and knows he's been thinking the same. With a gentle hop, he lands at Jack's side, and the boy doesn't move away. Jack might be watching the skyline, eyes locked on the silhouette of the hospital looming in the distance, but Jack's attention belongs to Bunnymund.

"We were wrong, though," Bunny assures Jack. He looks out over the quiet, snowy town. "Dead wrong. Would the world be better off without Hope? Without sweet Memories, or Wonder, or Dreams? These are things that require effort, Jack, things that need to be made and put _into_ the world. If we'd stopped, then and there—what would be left of this place?"

A paw comes to rest on the back of a blue hoodie. Jack seems to be fighting back tears.

"The world can be terrible sometimes. And—and I'm _sorry_ that this happened. To her. To _you_, for years and years." Bunnymund grips Jack's shoulder, careful but firm. "But we… we are more than what happens to us. We are who we _choose _to be."

Jack releases a small breath, heavy in the silence. His red-rimmed eyes are still locked on the hospital. Bunny leans in.

"So who are you, Jack Frost?"

The question rings in the air. After a long stretch, it seems to fade, swallowed up by the cold and the shadows, but Bunny knows it's still echoing in Jack's heart.

"I'm a Guardian," Jack says.

Bunnymund nods, satisfied. He releases Jack's shoulder after giving a companionable squeeze. Jack turns to look at Bunny, still lost, but less so, now.

Bunny nods at the skyline. "Go get 'er," he advises. "It's what you want. I'll be along in a minute."

Jack steals a moment to look at Bunny, then nods. He launches into the air after the ambulance, and he does not spare a look back.

If he had, he might've seen what Bunny saw. Something found in all tragedies, if you just take a moment to look:

The child's father, talking with a concerned officer, receiving assurances and a comforting ear. The semi driver, on the phone - not with insurance, it seems, but a family member, trading concerns and assurances. The two other drivers, swapping numbers, the older one comforting the younger; "You're sure you're ok?" "Yeah, I just—dad's gonna kill me." "You're alive, son. That's what matters."

A mother, across the street, who's clearly seen the crash. She's taken it as a reminder, and dropped everything to take the time and hug her own kids.

Joy comes from the strangest places, like a light from the darkness.

_It's no wonder that the strongest lights are lit in the dark, _Bunnymund muses.

_No one lights candles in the daytime. _

Thumping his foot on the roof, a hole appears in the yard below. He'll have to make a pit stop at the Warren, maybe shoot off a message to North and the others, let them know what happened. Get some supplies, too, since it'll be a bit before anyone gets news back if the injured kid pulled through. A care kit seems in order.

Snacks, blankets. Some playing cards, or crosswords.

Maybe a candle or two.

Bunnymund nods and dives into the tunnel. It's gonna be a long, dark, cold night ahead.

But they'll survive. They always do.

—


End file.
